


'Till All My Sleeves Are Stained Red

by shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester Use Their Words, Emotional Dean Winchester, Emotional Sam Winchester, Episode: s15e16 Drag Me Away (From You), Gen, More like the start of a resolution, Protective Dean Winchester, The brothers actually talk stuff out, episode coda, not really a fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:40:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27265141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod/pseuds/shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod
Summary: “You should know by now that not telling me, not giving me a choice when things go bad, never ends well.” The anger’s still there, barely restrained, and Sam doesn’t look up. “I don’t care if Chuck or Amara or Billie aren’t giving us any choices. You should give me that much at least. Especially in spite of them. Free will is what we’re fighting for.”When Sam pauses, Dean decides to start. “I never meant—““What?” Sam finally turns to him at that. “Never meant to leave me in the dark? You just accidentally forgot to tell me that Jack, our kid, is pulling the same stunt we have in order to atone for his sins? You just neglected to tell me, for days, days that we could’ve spent trying to find a way around this?”“There isn’t one,” Dean states in-between Sam’s increasingly loud questions.“You don’t know that!”Coda to 15x16. Seven hours is a long time to be stuck in a car, even under normal circumstances. Past midnight after a hunt after a fight with his little brother are far beyond any version of normal circumstances for Dean. Sam won't even look at him, not until they have to stop for gas and Sam confronts Dean that not giving him a choice is against everything they're fighting for.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 36





	'Till All My Sleeves Are Stained Red

**Author's Note:**

> Feels good to have finally written a tag to an episode! This one is a coda to 15x16 right after their heated discussion in the car, and since this story will probably get retconned by tonight's episode, I wanted to get it up before then. All the thanks to Fledhyris for the super last minute and amazing beta!
> 
> I don't own anything. Title from Onerepublic's "Secrets".

Seven hours is a long time to be stuck in a car, even under normal circumstances. Past midnight after a hunt _after_ a fight with his little brother are far, far beyond any version of normal circumstances for Dean. He’s too wired to sleep, and on top of that, being stuck in close quarters with Sam in another motel while emotions are this high isn’t a good idea for either of them. He can still hear both their voices reaching a fever pitch, trapped in the car, swirling around his head.

Sam’s pissed. He’s got a right to be. Dean figured he would be. But he also knows that the worst thing to do would be to try to apologize again or press the issue. Sam’s shoulders are a wall turned towards him as he stares out the window. Dean recognizes the neon sign for what it is. Sam needs time to cool off, and Dean intends to give it to him.

The anger and the hurt in both their words hangs overhead like the storm cell they’re driving through. The dew of raindrops on the windows soon turns into a decent sized downpour and Dean is forced to turn on the windshield wipers.

Music definitely won’t help, so the radio stays off. At least the steady cadence of the wipers going back and forth and back and forth gives Dean something to listen to.

Fifteen minutes after the last words were said, Dean steals a glance over at Sam. He still hasn’t moved a muscle, though he can probably feel Dean watching him. He quickly returns his eyes to the road and fleetingly wonders if Sam is watching the raindrops to see which will be fastest across the window like he did when they were kids.

Cases involving their past are few and far between, but when they do crop up, they bring with them a wealth of memories, both good and bad. In this case, the latter definitely outweighs the former. Dean very intensely stares at a car’s headlights driving past them so he doesn’t have to see the image of his dead kid brother that flashes behind his eyes. As soon as the car passes, he squeezes them shut for good measure.

Sam’s still his Achilles heel and the monsters still know it. Wasn’t so long ago that he’d seen a similar image in the soul eater’s nest. That split second took weeks to get out of his head. Now this, coupled with what he’d seen decades earlier… he doesn’t want to think about what his head will spit back at him while he tries to sleep now.

Just another reason to keep driving all the way until they get back to the bunker.

Two hours later, the Impala decides she has other plans. Cars need gas after all, even if the brothers’ meals were left sitting on a table back at the motel.

As he starts scanning the interstate for signs indicating an exit, he notes for the sixth time that Sam still hasn’t moved. His shoulders are tense and his head is held up and away from the window, so he isn’t sleeping. His jaw isn’t clenched like it was earlier though, so Dean hopes that’s a good sign.

It’s a few minutes later when he sees gas listed among the exit’s amenities and deftly pulls the Impala off the interstate to the brightly lit station. Thankfully, the downpour has abated to a drizzle, so he turns the wipers off as the car begins to slow down.

He doesn’t offer an explanation for why they’re pulling off and Sam doesn’t ask.

The station is deserted when Dean pulls up next to a pump, though he spots a sleepy-looking cashier on his phone behind the register. Dean fully expects Sam to throw open the car door and make a dash for the mart the second the car stops, but he doesn’t.

Sam waits a full four seconds before opening his door, so he’s simmered down a little. Dean will take what he can get. He watches as Sam crosses the small station forecourt and enters the mart, making the cashier look up as he does so.

Dean lets out a lengthy sigh. The Impala is completely quiet with her engine and wipers off, but the stillness isn’t pleasant. It’s weighted and clinging to him like a storm cloud. “Sorry, Baby,” he whispers as he runs his hands over the steering wheel he’s been clenching on and off for the last two hours.

He’s been doing a lot of apologizing and explaining lately—a lot for him, anyways. Maybe it’s got something to do with the fact that most of what makes him _him_ has been decided by a squirrely, controlling guy that just does things for his own amusement. Yeah, probably something related to that.

Dean gives himself another minute in the car since he knows Sam will be in the mart as long as possible. When he finally gets out and begins pumping gas, there’s the softest pitter-patter of rain on the tin awning of the gas station, but nothing more. No cars pass by on the highway behind him.

He sticks his hands in his pockets to fight off the chill and remembers that he still hasn’t texted Cas back. Even if he doesn’t answer Cas’s question, letting him know they’re on their way back would be helpful.

_Have you told Sam yet?_ goes unanswered as he opts instead with: _Stopped for gas five hours out. Things went fine._

Dean’s phone makes its way back into his pocket. The nozzle clicks below him, signaling that the tank is full, and by the time Dean has the car ready to go, Sam still isn’t back. He also isn’t at the register.

Dean doesn’t get back in the Impala quite yet. He instead leans back against the trunk and watches the highway. Eventually a semi shuttles past, headlights cutting through the softly falling rain. There’s a momentary sound of an engine going past before it fades and the station is quiet again.

Dean counts to one hundred before he goes inside. The guy at the register, ‘Keith’ according to his name tag, looks up at him through half-lidded eyes. “Big guy, long hair, where’s he at?” Dean asks.

“Got a few things and headed to the back.” Keith tilts his head towards the back of the small mart to where the bathroom signs are clearly visible.

Dean shoots him a halfhearted smirk before he follows the signs back.

The restroom isn’t a single stall so it’s not like Dean bothers knocking before he opens the door. He’s not exactly surprised by what he finds. Sam’s standing in front of the mirror, hands around one of the sinks, jaw clenched again.

Dean goes to open his mouth but finds that he doesn’t quite know what to say. He sees Sam lift his eyes to meet Dean’s in the mirror, but he doesn’t otherwise acknowledge him. The door clicks shut behind Dean and then it’s just them in an ugly green tiled bathroom with a clicking heater in the ceiling and rust on the faucets.

“Impala’s all filled up,” he finally says, as if there’s any other reason he’s in here right now. As if there aren’t a dozen other reasons. Dean watches as Sam’s knuckles go white from holding onto the sink. Maybe he’s misjudged this, maybe Sam still needs more time to work it out by himself. Intent on not making his brother any angrier, he points to the door. “I’ll be uh, you know,” Dean starts.

His hand is halfway to the handle before Sam speaks. “You should know by now that not telling me, not giving me a choice when things go bad, never ends well.” The anger’s still there, barely restrained, and Sam doesn’t look up from the sink.

Dean drops his hand back to his side and waits, giving Sam the space he needs if he wants to continue.

“I don’t care if Chuck or Amara or Billie aren’t giving us any choices. _You_ should give me that much at least. Especially in spite of them. Free will is what we’re fighting for.”

When Sam pauses, Dean decides to start. “I never meant—“

“What?” Sam finally turns to him at that. His face is contorted in an angry grimace and now Dean can see he’s holding a wadded paper towel in one hand. “Never meant to leave me in the dark? You just accidentally forgot to tell me that Jack, _our kid_ , is pulling the same stunt we have in order to atone for his sins? You just neglected to tell me, for days, days that we could’ve spent trying to find a way around this?”

“There isn’t one,” Dean states in-between Sam’s increasingly loud questions.

“You don’t know that!”

“Yes, I do!” Their voices are escalating again, just like they had in the car.

“How? Huh? How? You take all your extra days mulling this over to look through all the lore by yourself?” Sam actually scoffs at that. “Since when have we ever decided to just roll over and go with some higher up’s punches because they said so?”

“Because it’s Death, Sam. Oh, and God himself. And I don’t know, maybe in some screwed up way, it makes sense that a super powerful nephilim—Lucifer’s kid nonetheless—will have enough juice once he’s charged up to finish the job. And with energy like that, there’s no way there won’t be blowback, probably on him. It adds up.”

That’s what he’s been telling himself at least, that it makes logical sense. Yeah, as if anything about this situation is normal and logical. Dean hasn’t forgiven Jack, and he probably never fully will, but that doesn’t mean he wants the kid dead. It just means he’s tired of running in the wheel and this seems like their only way out of it. Not to mention the only way out for the world. The fact that it’s been vetted by Death herself doesn’t hurt either.

“Adds up,” Sam mutters under his breath as he shakes his head.

“Yeah, you know what, it does. And there’s no way you can mess with it. Telling you earlier would’ve only made it worse.”

Sam looks taken aback. “So what, this is… this is all about protecting me? Again? I’m not a kid anymore, Dean, you can’t freaking protect me from things like this! Not when they involve family!”

“I can sure as hell try! You would’ve just spun in circles and stressed yourself out and gotten nowhere.”

Dean can see him thinking, readying the reply that _some circles are better than no circles._ Something along those lines. Dean’s ready for that. What he isn’t ready for is the way Sam’s face falls.

“So if you weren’t gonna tell me, when would I have found out? From Cas? From Jack? Would I have needed to see him sacrifice himself before I understood that was the plan the whole time and all of you knew about it?” Sam’s voice is thick with an emotion akin to betrayal.

And dammit, there are tears in Sam’s eyes as he says it. Dean can see them pooling, reflecting light from thetwo off-white bulbs overhead. He tries to think of a response, he really does, but he comes up empty. His own head’s been swimming so much these past few days that he himself hadn’t been thinking of an endgame, of what would happen when all these pieces came to fruition. But Sam’s always a few steps ahead of him, so he honestly shouldn’t be surprised that Sam put the pieces together faster than Dean’s looked at the whole puzzle.

“You’re trying so damn hard to shield me from all this. So how could you think me knowing now would be worse than finding out later?”

Put like that, Dean doesn’t have a good answer. Plain and simple. His plan has always been to protect his brother first and deal with the consequences later. Figures that here, during the last few plays of the game, is when it blows up in his face.

“Billie needs your say-so that you won’t interfere.” Dean holds up a hand when Sam opens his mouth to interrupt. Surprisingly, his brother lets him continue. “This is bigger than us, Sam. It’s about us, but hell, the resolution doesn’t even directly involve us. Maybe it’s a—I don’t know—a sign that we just need to let this one play out how it has to.”

Sam frowns. “Play out as in letting Jack fix the problem and sacrifice himself in the process.”

Dean doesn’t even have it in him to nod.

He watches as Sam’s hand clenches the paper towel so hard his knuckles turn white. “How can you be okay with this?”

“I’m not okay with it,” Dean immediately fires back. He hates that it’s out of their control and that the fight for their story isn’t even supposed to involve them. There’s something so innately wrong with it that it hurts him to his core. “I’m just… I’m tired, man, and for once, it’s out of our hands.”

Sam blows out a frustrated breath and tosses the paper towel into the can next to Dean by the door. “I’m tired too, Dean, we all are,” he says, a note of understanding in his tone. “But this, keeping secrets, giving in, this isn’t how we work. We look until we find something, and then we change the script for the better, right?”

Dean takes a moment to look at his younger brother. He can tell there’s still anger simmering below the surface, but Sam’s eyebrows are up, pleading. His eyes below them are filled with hope. He genuinely believes they have a shot at turning things to their advantage with no casualties.

Dean lost that hope a long time ago. If the wall didn’t look so disgusting, he’d like nothing more than to lean his back up against it to get some of the weight off his shoulders. They’re as good as removed pawns sitting and watching the chess match, unable to change the outcome. That’s all Chuck sees them as. Toys to be trifled with, tools to use to reach his endgame.

“Dean?” Sam asks quietly. It’s only when Dean looks up from where he’s been staring distantly at the floor that he realized he probably zoned out for a few seconds longer than he thought he did.

He purses his lips and forces out the fact that he’s been trying to accept as truth for weeks now. “We’ve tried, Sam. And even after all that… I just don’t see a situation where the world wins without this going down. That’s all there is to it.”

It’s not acceptance, not by a long shot. It’s resignation. It’s a sigh and a frown and the world on their shoulders for too damn long. It’s anger at the fact that they’ve been relegated to the sidelines after having been ordered around the field for who knows how long.

“Billie was wrong about Michael and the Ma’lak box. She’s got her own agenda. Maybe she’s wrong about this too,” Sam tries.

Dean thinks about Billie’s statement that they’re the last world. Remembers what Mrs. Butters said about their fancy inter-dimensional telescope being dark. Thinks about Sam’s nightmares where supposed versions of themselves killed each other for Chuck’s amusement.

There’s too much present for all of it to be false. He’s just not sure what to pick out as the truth among the lies. Better to think it’s all true and avoid missing something that could save the world.

“Maybe,” Dean replies simply. It’s noncommittal, and he knows Sam can hear it in his voice, that he doesn’t believe that’s the case. He watches from a few feet away as Sam’s face falls. “Look, man, if you and Cas want to find another way, have at it, I won’t stop you.” He waves his hand and lets it thump down against his thigh. “But if it comes down to the wire and this ends up being our only shot…”

Sam only nods. He knows exactly how to finish that hypothetical. But he also won’t commit, not until he’s exhausted every last resource or is forced to give in.

And that’s what Dean had been hoping to avoid, if he’s being honest with himself. He didn’t want Sam getting his hopes up only to have them squashed by another cosmic being. And yet, here they are. So much for protecting him.

Dean clears his throat and rubs a hand over his face as if it will get rid of the bags under his eyes or the worry lines on his forehead. “Car’s ready whenever you are,” he finally says and reaches for the door handle. He hears a faint ‘yeah’ from his brother but doesn’t see Sam moving yet. Dean leaves him, still standing in the middle of the bathroom, and walks back out to the Impala.

He makes an effort to close the door as he normally does and not put any of his anger into it. Once he’s back within her safe confines, Dean runs his hands over the wheel in a comforting gesture before he lets them fall into his lap. He really, really doesn’t want to rush Sam and trigger another argument, so he doesn’t start the car just yet.

Sam finally comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later and treats the Impala with a similar form of respect. Neither one of them says anything.

Dean is fully prepared for Sam to resume his earlier position staring out the window, but to his surprise, Sam continues facing forward as he digs in his pockets. A moment later he pulls out a bag of peanuts and tears open the seal.

Normally Dean would’ve made a joke about Sam’s status as a ‘health nut’, but tonight he settles for making the joke inside his own head instead. He then finds the right key on the ring without even looking and turns it in the ignition.

As he’s doing so, something plops into his lap. The engine hums to life beneath him and as he looks down, Dean finds a small, bright yellow package of peanut MnM’s.

Sam just shrugs minutely when Dean looks over to him, so he decides to take the offering for what it is. He tears the bag open and maneuvers back onto the highway with one hand on the wheel, the other popping brightly colored candies into his mouth.

Thirty miles down the road when the snacks are gone and silence once again settles over the car, Dean finds a soft rock station on the radio and turns it down low. Sam keeps staring out the windshield, shoulders more relaxed than before, brow furrowed as cogs turn in his brain, thinking endlessly of a way out.

**Author's Note:**

> I loved the ending scene of last week's episode, but I can't help feeling like they're vilifying Dean a little bit. From my perspective, both brothers have understanding reasons for why they're doing what they are, so hopefully this shed a little light on what Dean may have been thinking! I'd love to hear any thoughts you all have! Thanks for reading!


End file.
